


Irishwitch's Fluff Prompt Square Fill

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest 2019, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 11:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: My ideas for the prompt square labeled Fluff





	1. Breezes

#1 Breezes  
Hurricanes begin with a gentle zephyr. Forest fires spring from a single spark. It is always the little things that seem to presage the greatest change. Q wasn't expecting any great alterations in his life. Indeed, he really didn't welcome change. As much as he was a proponent of innovation and new technology, he was a bit less eager to make changes in anything personal. He wore similar styles to those he been wearing since his university days. He stuck to classic cuts and materials. He rarely listened to new music unless someone brought something to his attention. He had his tea in the same mug every day, the same blend, the same bare touch of sugar. MI6 security had persuaded him not to take the same route home every day once he had been made department head. He resented it but adapted an algorithm to decide what route to take on any given day. His professional life might have stretches of utter chaotic activity but he maintained his own calm in his personal life. Which was why he hadn't had a lover in years. Unpredictable creatures, people. They caused upheaval and he had enough of that dealing with his staff and the damnable agents under his purview. 

And one particular agent was currently more agitating than usual. 007, James Bond, was currently on inactive status. He had fractured and/or lacerated himself on his last mission to the extent that medical had refused to clear him for the moment. Perhaps that wasn't fair. It had been his opposite number on that filthy mess in Sao Paulo that had thrown him down an air shaft so maybe it was not his fault. Still, the outcome was that he was haunting headquarters like Hamlet's father in a bad modern production, complete with a navy blue sling to match his tailored suits and a plastic boot on his left ankle. 

Q sighed as the agent entered his branch and stalked, at least as much as he was able, around to seat himself at the corner of Q's desk. “At the risk of sounding churlish and unwelcoming, why are you here, Bond?”

“It's hot,” Bond responded. “You do realize the budget constraints mean this is the only damned place in the building that actually stays cool.” Q noted Bond had placed himself directly in line with one of the circulating vents that made sure the floor in Q branch stayed cool. As he registered that, the vents cycled on, blowing a soft breeze of cool dry air. It brought a scent to Q's discerning nose. Good coffee, a slight medicinal tang that was possibly liniment, and expensive aftershave and something else. Q took a moment over it. Musky and clean and very definitely intriguing. Perhaps years of working in the antiseptic environments required by his machines meant his nose was more sensitive. Never mind the reason, the scent was provoking a very definite reaction. He was more sure of it when Bond, after sitting for a quarter hour, rose to his feet and limped over to the counter where the coffee maker and tea kettle resided. He walked past the back of Q's chair, the slight air displacement bringing a new layer of the scent and a shiver to Q's skin. He returned with a cup of coffee and leaned over the back of Q's chair when he returned. “What are you working on?” His breath stirred the tiny hairs on the back of Q's neck. He felt the rise of goose flesh and hunched his shoulders to try and shake it off. 

“Tracking an arms dealer for 003 in North Africa. Casablanca of all places.” Q settled a bit to the work as the target moved and Bond sat back down. He handed off the information to the handler running the mission for 003 and leaned back in his chair. He checked the time on the clock over the big monitor at the end of the room and started to close his programs for the day. 

Bond tapped the corner of the desk. “Are you leaving?” Q nodded absently as he went through his close of day routine. He retreated to his private office and grabbed his bag and set his tea mug on the back counter after rinsing it. He turned and saw Bond still standing there. “I thought you might care to have dinner,” he suggested waving Q out of the office as though it were his domain and not Q's. 

“Dinner?” Q asked absently as they waited for the lift. 

“Yes. I found a new place near my flat. Nice outdoor patio, catch an evening breeze or two. And the food is quite nice.”

Q wasn't sure how he came to say it but it was out of his mouth before he could call it back. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

And it actually was quite lovely. The food was excellent, Bond was pleasant company, and the heat wave seemed to be lifting, a gust of wind flapping the awning as they were preparing to leave. They walked along, not heading any particular place as far as Q could tell, until they paused outside a rather nice old townhouse. “Care to come up?' Bond asked with a casual gesture toward the building. Q almost said no, almost went home to his usual routine. Instead he followed Bond up to the door and into the flat as the smell of ozone presaged a summer storm. Maybe changes weren't such a bad thing after all.


	2. Honey

#2 Honey  
Bond entered Q branch during the early part of the day shift. He had been listening to Q's voice grow hoarser and his temper shorter with every hour of the ridiculous mission he's just finished. He'd ferreted out a mole who was leaking classified information out of the British Embassy in Rabat. It was hardly even challenging and could have been handled by a more junior agent but some miserable virus was decimating the ranks of MI6 and he was available. Q had been sickening before he left and Bond hadn't wanted to leave. His relationship with the Quartermaster was well established and he knew the man would literally work until he dropped if someone with sense didn't make him behave like a responsible adult. And that usually meant Bond. He exited the foyer in front of the lift in time to hear a series of grating coughs that gradually subsided to a woeful sniffling. This was a bad one. He approached the console in the center of the room.

“Q, 007 reporting back. Shall we do the equipment inventory now?” He made sure the lift of one eyebrow and the slight smile were only visible to Q who sniffled into a tissue and nodded. The office door closed and Q slumped into the desk chair. 

“Spare me the lecture, James. I feel terrible but we're skeleton staffed as it is.” Q's voice was almost a whisper and he rubbed at his neck, swallowing with a pained expression. “I took some aspirin and I'm drinking lots but I need to stay at least another few hours. We have one more 00 in the field and the people on shift now are all a bit more junior than I'm comfortable with.” He gave into another coughing fit, turning his head into his sleeve to keep it contained. 

Knowing Q was right, but still not liking it, Bond handed over his equipment. “Can I get you anything? Maybe cough drops?”

Q grimaced. “Hate them. And I ran out of honey for my tea.” He stowed the last of the items away and gave a ghost of his usual smile. “You can take care of me later, I promise.” He ventured a hug, not wanting to risk a kiss, although Bond seemed stubbornly immune to most bugs. He returned to his console and Bond headed out on a self assigned mission.

He returned an hour later with a brown paper shopping bag. He said nothing to Q who watched as he unpacked the bag. He hooked up a small round gadget to a USB port in the computer Q was using. He brought over a cup of water from the filtered spout used for the coffee maker. He added three drops of something from a brown bottle labeled rosemary oil. He flipped a switch and the thing hummed almost soundlessly. Next he produced a jar full of something dark amber and cloudy. He scooped a spoonful into Q's favorite mug and switched on the kettle. He returned jar to Q's desk. “Rosemary oil for coughing and congestion,” he said pointing at the diffuser. “Organic honey for your throat,” he continued, “and try to keep the minions from pilfering it.” He reached into the bag one more time pulling out a handful of rectangular red packages with a stylized hexagonal graphic. “Cough drops,” he said succinctly, beginning to unwrap one. 

“I told you I don't like cough drops,” Q began to protest. Bond just popped one in his mouth anyway. He savored it a moment and then sighed happily as the candy began to dissolve. “It's honey,” he said with a smile.

“Wait until you get to the center,” Bond advised. “There's liquid honey in the middle. Those are for when you can't get a fresh cuppa right away.” Bond deposited the open pack of the Honees drops on the desk. “I'll put the rest in your office.” He leaned in and finished in a whisper for Q's ears only. “I'll wait and take you home after, Honey.” Q might have slapped him but he was too busy enjoying the feeling the pampering gave him.


	3. Raindrops

#3 Raindrops

There were days when Q seriously did not want to be an adult. He wanted to be able to throw a complete tantrum and not have someone look at him as if he were a self indulgent idiot. He sighed and shrugged his bag further up on his shoulder and pulled his hood further down over his face, stepped off the kerb and doggedly crossed the street that was swiftly becoming a small stream. The rain had caused transit stoppages and huge traffic delays. A commute home that should have taken a quarter hour was already three times that. Two more blocks, he thought. And then what? Bond was out of the country. He was going home to a shared flat that was now devoid of the essence of 'shared'. It was astonishing how easily they had fallen into the comfort of being there for each other. Of course, the downside of that was that both of them, to some extent, had grown to dislike being apart. And on a night like this, it was no surprise to Q that he was feeling the separation more than usual. He trudged the last block in a miserable slog, unlocking the door and stepping inside. He was already resetting the security when he registered the warmth. The flat was much warmer than it usually was. He may have forgotten to set the thermostat properly. He shrugged off his wet things, scattering drops here and there and startling the cats who had come to greet him. He toed off his shoes and peeled off the disgustingly wet socks and padded through to the shower. 

He started the water as hot as he could and then dialed it back just a bit before stepping into the blessed heat, clothes and glasses and all the stress of the day left outside. The heat finally began to seep into his core a bit and he began to work at consciously relaxing his muscles, especially the ones in his neck which were screaming in discomfort. At one point, he thought he heard a noise other than what he expected. Probably one of the cats, he thought. He finished rinsing conditioner through his hair and turned off the water, He stepped out of the shower and into a warm towel and screeched in a panic before he realized it was Bond holding it and wrapping him up in it. He skipped the questions and went straight in for a long soul deep kiss, James apparently completely agreeable to that. 

Coming up for air, Q finally asked,, “How are you here?”

“Mission was a bust. The target was never there in the first place. Turned up in the middle of 004's current mission so he's her problem just now. I came home.” Bond was wearing sweatpants slung low on those impossible hips and Q was more than a bit distracted by that and a few more kisses. “Couldn't get near HQ in the flooding. I reported by phone.” Q nodded and shifted so Bond could finish drying him and made what he thought was a sneaky grab for the tie holding the pants up. Bond chuckled and skinned out of them, pulling Q along to the bedroom. The flat had several nice features. It had an in unit washer and dryer, producing heavenly warmed towels. It had a large master bedroom with space for a king sized bed. And one more thing. The bedroom had a skylight. And after James drove him mad with the delightful ways he knew his body, Q could stare up at the raindrops pattering down on it, reflecting the lights of the streets in prismatic splendor and sounding out a rhythm he fell asleep to, cradled in his lover's arms.


	4. Starshine

#4 Starshine

Q was never a clock watcher insofar as his work hours were concerned. He had mental and actual timers for mission activities and these were almost always active but he left work when the work was done. But for the past three weeks, he had been out at the 1830 precisely unless there was a critical op on. At 1828 he would close his station, collect his hat and bag and wave goodbye to the evening shift. Some of the minions, since it was part of the culture in the division, had a betting pool on. The current favorites were girlfriend, boyfriend, practice for a drag show and superhero business. Since all the suggestions were anonymous no one knew who had suggested any of these but they were all getting loads of play. The fact that Ian had a Spiderman figure hanging from his monitor was not remarked upon.

Bond was not the sort of man to let a puzzle be. He was all for secrets if they were his own. Other people's were another matter. His nature was to ferret out secrets. He had been out of the country and just recently returned and was a bit disgruntled when he entered Q branch at 2015 and found R was in charge and Q was nowhere to be seen. “Where's Q?” he asked as he handed over the equipment to be returned for inventory and repair. 

“Out the door on time,” offered one of the late shift minions, a tall Asian girl with purple dyed hair in a ponytail. Every time he ventured into Q branch, people seemed to have changed styles or dyed their hair. It was obviously a very mistaken stereotype that IT people were all dull and conventional. He dismissed that thought and asked R, always a sensible person, where Q might have gone. 

“Didn't mention,” R answered with her usual placid smile. “All I know is he's been very prompt in being out of here almost every evening for the past few weeks. 

Knowingly Bond gave a conspiratorial smile. “Come on, what does the pool say?”

R smirked right back. “New boyfriend is the current favorite at three to one.”

Bond remembered his manners, said thank you and left. He considered the matter and decided to do a bit of research. He knew where Q lived and decided to drive past. There was a light on at the door and one appeared to be on in the kitchen but, when Bond checked the small shed that served as a garage, Q's well cared for Saab was not there. He thought a bit more and, as the July night was warm, settled opposite the house, pulled out of sight, to wait. It was just a bit past midnight when a car turned onto the street. Sure enough, Q's silver Saab rolled into the lane beside the house and he got out. He opened the shed, pulled the car inside, and came out carrying a long canvas carrier over his shoulder. He locked the door and went inside. Bond tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched more lights go on inside the small house. Eventually they all went off and everything was quiet. Bond pulled away, driving back to his flat and none the wiser. 

He wasn't jealous. That was ridiculous. He wasn't involved with the Quartermaster and had no say on how he spent his time or with whom. And that little voice in the back of his head said 'Only because you never asked him. Only because you couldn't take a risk.' That led to another thought. Maybe a risk was worth it. And as he pulled up to his building, he made up his mind to ask Q out. Drinks would surely not be threatening or suggest too much. 

Accordingly, the following day at lunch he made it a point to stop in at Q branch. Q was in his office, turning over a stack of the paperwork he had, so far, not managed to eradicate. He had a mug of tea at his elbow and sandwich in hand. “May I help you, 007?' was his polite greeting, putting the sandwich down. 

Bond ventured in, easing the door almost closed. “Actually, I was wondering if you might care to go out for drinks after work?” He paired the question with his most winning smile.

Q sipped his tea before replying. “I'll have to take a rain check on that, Bond. I have plans this evening. It's nice of you to ask but I have another commitment.” He gestured at the paper covered desk. “And I am sorry but I really have to take care of this mess.”

Bond found himself outside the office, wondering what his next step was. He was rarely turned down. But the rain check part had sounded promising. This required more intel. The obvious answer to finding out where Q went in the evenings was to follow him. Accordingly, Bond returned home and gathered up a camera and a directional mike that Q branch had documented as 'lost' three missions ago. He spent some time scouring the internet for items that might interest Q. Clubs, classes, anything that had a recurring schedule, but nothing seemed to match up. Finally he dressed in dark clothing and drove to Q's home. Presumably, since he had used his car last night, the pattern would repeat. He was slouched behind the wheel when Q walked up from the tube station, work bag over his shoulder, the early evening summer sun casting a long shadow in front of him. He disappeared inside. Bond directed the microphone at what he guessed was the kitchen. 

“There you go you furry layabouts. New flavor tonight.” There were a few noises of cans opening and metallic clanking. “Did you guys miss me?” Bond recalled Q commenting about pets. He was talking to his cats. No embarrassing baby talk, just a casual conversation. There were further sounds of cabinet and fridge doors opening and, eventually, the beep of a microwave. Q fixing something for supper. Other than a word or two more to the cats, there was no conversation, Q didn't phone anyone. About an hour after he had returned home, Q came back out, with the same large nylon bag as last night and retrieved his car, heading out the lane and out of the area. Bond had taken the precaution of borrowing a very non descript car from the pool. He was able to follow Q fairly easily as he drove out of the city headed south. As they left the stir of the city behind, Bond began to wonder if this was all going to be a waste of time. There was not much at all out here except bedroom communities and trees. It was full dark when Q slowed and took the exits for Morden Hall Park. Bond slowed as well, having turned his lights off and navigating by Q's taillights. Sure enough, Q turned into an almost deserted car park. Bond pulled up outside and watched. 

Q locked the car, hoisting the canvas bag, looking up at the sky and beginning to walk off toward a graveled walkway. When he was far enough from the car park, Bond pulled in and parked at the far edge, nearest the trees. He headed up the same walk and used the small pocket torch discreetly to make sure he didn't get too close. Q wasn't trying to be quiet. He moved at a good pace, gravel crunching under foot while Bond glided smoothly behind, keeping to the grass at the edge. The path widened abruptly to a lawn or meadow. Q moved confidently to a space clear of the trees and gazed upward, seen clearly in the light of a half moon. He put the bag down and extracted a blanket which he spread out, corners weighted by a thermos and a few random rocks. He slid a long tubular shape out of the bag and nestled it onto a collapsible tripod. He consulted a notebook, using a red lensed torch, adjusting the telescope and settled down next to it, peering through the eyepiece. Bond smiled. Q the stargazer. The picture was lovely. Bond hesitated a bit. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to disturb the scene. The decision was taken away when Q, without looking away from the elegant brass and wood instrument, called out, “You can stop lurking. I knew you were following all the way from my flat. You do realize the pool vehicles are tracker equipped?” Bond took a step out from the trees. “Just don't use a light. It ruins my viewing.”

Bond, a bit chastened at being caught at his own game, walked up and sat on a corner of the blanket. He looked up in the direction the telescope was aimed. “Jupiter, Saturn and....Antares,” he commented after thinking a moment.

Q glanced up momentarily, his eyes without glasses seeming larger. “Of course, you are ex Navy and celestial navigation is expected.” He offered the thermos, apparently not terribly bothered by the company. He went back to his viewing, speaking while he did so. “I know about the pool. I just didn't bother to share my hobby with anyone. And June and July have been amazing for the views. I'd hate to miss seeing this.”

“Then we share something,” Bond replied, leaving the thermos untouched. “I would have hated to miss this view.” Q looked up from the eyepiece puzzled. “You,” Bond clarified, “with starshine in your eyes.” Before Q could object to the slightly cheesy line, Bond had leaned in and kissed him. And, when the first kiss garnered no objection and,, after a moment, enthusiastic participation, there were a great many more.

The telescope was left somewhat ignored for the remainder of the evening. Lying back looking up at the wide sky and exchanging kisses was much more fun. Although they did manage to startle a late returning group of bat watchers

“


	5. Earth

#5 Earth

Moving in together was a matter of some concern. Q wanted the right place, someplace with room for both he and James to have space for what mattered to them. When Q asked however, all James had said was it was all fine so long as they had a place together. They took a weekend to look at properties with an estate agent, and Q watched closely. The townhouses were given neutral comments about convenient parking and energy efficient upgrades. The first day was a disappointment. Nothing seemed outstanding. Q was resigned to spending the next weekend doing another weary round of the same. Sunday dawned, and Bond was up and making breakfast when Q opened his eyes. The list for today had some properties further outside London. After the disappointment of the previous day, James seemed oddly enthusiastic. They washed up and left to meet the agent at the first property. 

“You know we can just combine our stuff and ask MI6 to give us a couples flat. We are on record.” Q glanced at James' profile as he drove. He got a quick sideways glance from those startling blue eyes before a rapid return to focus on the road. 

“And the flats are always sterile cookie cutter places,” James observed. “Your place may be small but it's got character.”

Q laughed. “Yes, and a tiny bathroom and peeling plaster.”

The estate agent's first place was a huge modern monstrosity that Bond immediately vetoed as having a rail trestle too near. The next two were also rejected. One had a leaky roof and the next was in a dismal area that looked like it would flood in a good rainstorm. They took a break for lunch and then followed the agent down a village lane from the motorway. The house was originally a cottage but had been considerably expanded. It had a high hedge at the front and was on an acre of property. Q was following the agent through the second floor when he realized James was not with them. He looked around and was contemplating texting when he saw a hint of movement out one of the master bedroom windows. Looking out he could see the property stretching back to a fieldstone wall. There was a stand of trees in the corner with an old iron bench. James was treading carefully, looking down at the ground. He came to the trees and ran a hand down the bark, pulling a branch down toward him to examine the leaves. He moved quietly along the wall, reaching a hand to it occasionally. He stepped to a spot near what might have been a garden plot at some point and crouched down. As Q watched, he dug the fingers of one hand into the ground, pulling up a palmful of earth and rolling it in his palm, a wistful expression on his face. As he brushed off his palms, he glanced up at the window and saw he was watched. He gave Q a slightly sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulders and gravitating to a climbing rose that seemed in desperate need of attention.

Q smiled back. He could still be surprised by the man he loved. He would never have imagined James as a gardener but it was obvious that was what he wanted. “We'll take this one,” he said with finality


	6. Blankets

#6 Blankets

“Clean up is on the way, 007. You can head for the airport.” Q's voice over comms was cool and professional. “Unless you need medical?” The last was still calm but with an edge Bond recognized. He smiled to himself. 

“Negative. No need for medical. I'm just at the car now.” He slid behind the wheel and turned the key. “What time is the flight?”

“It's at 1430. Last flight to Heathrow this afternoon so do try to be prompt.” Q's voice may have sounded chiding to anyone listening but Bond heard something else, the sound of a man who wanted him home. He checked his watch.

“Plenty of time, Q. I may even have time for a bit of shopping.” He chuckled at the disgruntled noise knowing full well Q was doing it for show and adored when James brought him presents. And James enjoyed picking out things he knew Q would adore. So when he saw the shop window, he drove around the block to find a parking space. He studied the window and nodded before entering. The shelves and tables were filled with a profusion of blankets in every color and style from quilts to knitted afghans to weighted and heated ones. 

The counter person was a young man with a ponytail and several earrings. “May I be of assistance, sir?” he asked politely in German. 

Bond pointed to the window. “May I see that one, the grey one?”

The clerk hurried over and opened the back of the window display, pulling out the blanket. It was as soft as it looked and Bond's hand sank into the plush nap. He held it up and asked the clerk, “Do you have this in a larger size?”

The young man raised one finger and hurried off to the rear of the shop, returning in a moment with a much larger cousin to the blanket Bond had been looking at but which was just as soft. “It's 230 cm square, the largest we carry in stock.” 

Bond nodded approval. “Can you wrap it with a ribbon like that?” He pointed to a quilt with a ribbon tied round it, quartering it and fastened with a simple bow in the middle. 

“Of course, sir. Any particular color?” He gestured to a row of ribbon rolls behind the counter. 

Thinking of the effect, Bond pointed. “The dark red,” he pronounced. 

The clerk happily folded the blanket in a neat square and wrapped the ribbon around, tying a neat flat bow. He produced a brown paper shopping tote and carefully slid the assembly in. He ran the charges and handed over the receipt. “Have a pleasant day, sir”

Bond returned to the car, bag in hand, depositing it carefully in the passenger seat. Checking his phone he found a message that his tickets and boarding pass would be at the desk in the first class lounge. He drove into the airport rental lot with plenty of time to spare. He took his carry on and the blanket to the lounge and retrieved his ticket. He had time for a drink and sat watching the usual mix of passengers, waiting for the boarding call. When he took his seat, the attendant offered to take the bag and stow it overhead. “I'd prefer to keep it with me,” he said. He was reluctant to risk having the carefully tied bow smashed or pulled loose. 

Peeking at the blanket visible at the open top of the bag, the attendant cooed, “Oh, it looks so soft. Present for your wife?”

Bond just smiled and nodded. Easier than trying to explain his relationship with his spiky tempered, utterly gorgeous and thoroughly male Quartermaster. 

Bond was notorious for ignoring his debriefing so no one found it strange that he disappeared from the airport on arrival. The technicians in Q branch looked warily at their boss but he just quirked his mouth as though to dismiss it as just another instance of 007 flouting the rules. He finished his workday and signed off to the evening shift and headed for his flat. He was not at all surprised when he entered and found dinner already prepared and Bond greeting him with a kiss. They chose to eat on the sofa instead of at the table, sharing dessert off one plate and luxuriating in the ability to be close. Neither of them said a word about the just completed mission. That was part of the unspoken understanding. They never spoke about work when Bond first returned home. They chatted about the meal and the inconsequential odds and ends of the day. 

Q excused himself to shower, and Bond followed a step or so behind. Q got as far as the bedroom door and stopped, turning to grin at Bond. “It's a bit bigger than the average souvenir,” he said, pointing at the bag in the center of the bed. He approached and sat down on the mattress, drawing the bag to him and sliding the contents out. He looked up at Bond wide eyed behind his glasses. He sank both hands into the fluffy fabric and gave a giggle. “I've never felt anything this amazingly soft.” He untied the bow carefully and wrapped it up over his fingers, tucking it away in the bedside drawer. He began to unfold the fabric making happy little noises as he saw how large it was. To Bond's infinite amusement, he sank down face first and rolled himself up in the blanket, just his feet and head showing. “How did you know to get this for me?” he asked gazing up through slightly crooked glasses, eyes bright with pleasure.

Bond sat down on the mattress and stroked a hand over the blanket bundle. “We've been together eight months. I spend most of my free time here. You nest. I watch you. You have loads of blankets but you have favorites. Those are the ones I find you huddled up on the sofa with, one wrapped around you and one over your knees. This one is big enough to cover you entirely.”

“I love it, James. It's a wonderful gift.” Q shrugged down a bit further. 

“I'm very glad you appreciate it, darling. But I'd appreciate you unwrapping yourself a bit because it's going to be hard to do the evil things I want to do if you're all wrapped up. I promise you can cuddle under it later. Just imagine how much better it will feel when you're naked.”

Q's smile was full of wicked conspiratorial glee as he emerged form the fluffy cocoon, leaning in for a kiss full of sensual promise. “Welcome home, James.”


	7. Thistles

#7 Thistles

“Q, where did you get to?” Bond's voice carried in the summer quiet. The only other sounds were bird calls and the buzz of drowsy bees in the wildflowers. He wasn't really worried. The hike had been a bit of mild exercise since Q, despite being fairly fit, was nowhere up to 00 standards. They had been out most of the day from the bed and breakfast. Arran had been a compromise destination for a holiday. It was far enough away from London to satisfy Bond and civilized enough that Q could still get wifi and be available for emergencies. 

This was their third day on the island and they had left the bed and breakfast just after sunrise, grabbing a quick bite from the cafe on the edge of the town before heading out for the walk they had decided on. They had walked for hours and stopped for lunch to admire one of the better views. Bond had decided to make a foray to the cliff tops and Q had declined, preferring to read a bit and remained at their stopping point. 

Except this was where they had stopped. Bond was sure of that, as he could see the flat rock they had used to lay out their lunch. He began to circle outward from that point, a gradual progression to cover as much ground as possible. It took about twenty minutes for him to discover the genius of MI6 sound asleep. His camera was next to him, his pack under his head and sunglasses perched a bit lopsidedly on his nose. Bond could be silent when he chose to be. He settled lightly to sit cross legged near his lover. The warmth of the sun was a pleasant presence on his back as he watched Q sleep. 

Q almost never took leave. He had desperately needed it. The first night in the bed and breakfast, he had been restless at first, disturbed by the quiet. A vigorous round of love making had gotten him to sleep and, once down, he had slept for 10 hours, waking with pillow creases in his face and hair completely smashed flat on one side. Bond had found this adorable and had insisted morning sex was necessary. Q didn't disagree although he did complain about no tea first thing. The next two days, Bond had found Q napping at odd intervals.. He always smiled a bit and settled to do something quiet until Q woke up, usually after fifteen minutes or so. The walk today had been a joint decision, Q reveling in the chance to take pictures, many of which would be sent back to Moneypenny or favored Q branch employees. 

Bond picked up the camera and scanned through what was on the memory. There were a lot of images of the rugged landscapes, several of the bed and breakfast. Local wildlife featured heavily, including several quite close up ones of butterflies that were the most recent. Bond imagined Q must have laid down on his belly in order to get that close. Many of them were quite nicely framed. Bond was a bit chagrined to discover a high percentage of photos of himself, usually when he had been unaware of it. And there were a few of them together, smiling and leaning into each other, as they had persuaded the landlord or a fellow tourist to help them out. 

Q slept on, unaware for a little longer. He finally stirred with a wrinkle of his nose and a lithe stretch. Bond craned his head up over the profusion of flowers. Not even a wayward sheep in sight. He plucked the sunglasses off Q's nose and slid a hand under the cotton knit jumper he was wearing. Caressing warm skin and teasing a nipple, he leaned in to kiss the smiling mouth. Pinning Q to the ground, he slid his other hand down into the front of Q's pants and encountered hot silky skin over a very interested cock. “Dreaming of me?” he asked in between kisses.

Q pinched his ribs. “Egotist,” he chided, but he was smiling when he said it. He made some forays of his own and between the two of them, they managed to get trousers and pants out of the way, mouths sealed together, keeping their groans and sighs just for themselves as they brought each other off, slowly and messily. Both of them laughed as they used wet wipes from the packs to clean up. Clothes straightened, they wandered back to the hotel. The day would have been utterly perfect if Bond had not needed to spend an hour after dinner, untangling thistles from Q's hair, Q wincing every time the things tugged. Bond kissed him every time he got rid of another one and rewarded Q's limited patience by dragging him to the bathroom and massaging his scalp under the shower for as long as they could justify depleting the hot water. Then again, maybe the day was perfect after all.


	8. Candles

#8 Candles

Q wasn't quite sure why he had purchased it. The little glass jar perched on the shelf above his home workstation, innocuous and commonplace. He had passed a little pop up shop on his way home from from work one afternoon and stopped in, intrigued by the sign. Massage Candles-All Natural Ingredients-Perfect for Lovers. He browsed for a little while until the shop girl asked if she could help.

“We have all kinds of scents, sir. Here's a list.”

“What makes them massage candles?” he asked as he glanced down the list. Orange Creamsicle, for heaven's sake.

Oh, they're low temperature soy wax mixed with massage oils, all excellent for the skin.” She drew him over to a small table where a jar resided on a warming pad, the contents liquid. “Here, try. This one's peppermint.” She demonstrated, pouring a few drops on her own hand and then rubbing it in.

Assured of the safety, he allowed her to hold the jar over his hand. The liquid wax was no warmer than he liked his bath water. Perhaps 50 degrees C he guessed. He rubbed his hands together and the stuff seemed to absorb, leaving his skin softer and smelling of peppermint. He was taken with the idea and bought a small one in lavender. He likely wouldn't use it as intended but the lavender scent was soothing. 

And there it sat, with it's playful printed label and the little descriptive booklet looped to the jar with an elastic. And there it might have sat forever if not for a series of coinciding circumstances.

Q had to attend meetings with the higher ups. He regretted the necessity but worked for a bureaucracy and was a department head. He maintained a few suits for these occasions. The required attire also demanded business formal shoes. He had recently purchased a new pair to replace ones he had spilled something from one of the labs on. He resolved to never make the mistake of not changing to appropriate lab footwear again. 

The meeting went longer than he had hoped, only ending when he had to return to his branch to supervise a mission sliding toward disaster. He was on his feet for three hours in the middle of the monitoring floor, pacing and giving directions to the new field agent who had gotten into more than they bargained for. Back up eventually arrived and Q was able to sign out.

He got to the entrance to discover that a rainstorm of epic proportions was drowning most of Metropolitan London, the streets awash in a mix of rain water and unspeakable messes that were picked up by the swirl of water and carried along. He avoided the worst of it, only to find the tube station shut down. Just as he was turning to head back and get a car and driver, a vehicle approached out of the gloom and splashed up a flood of the combined detritus all over him. He sighed deeply and looked down at the ruin of his trousers and new shoes which were pinching his feet abominably. 

He was shocked when the driver stopped and reversed, rolling down the window. “Q? I am terribly sorry. I didn't see you there.” It was Bond of course. In a different world it would have been anyone else or he would not have stopped. But it was 007 and Q was in no fit state to deal with his personal pest. Bad enough the man was a professional menace. But he had to be so damnably attractive that Q was sometimes torn between wanting to slap him or kiss him. He was certain both would have had bad results so he had done neither. But he was hopelessly taken with the man and was grateful Bond apparently had not seen it. Not helpful to one's peace of mind to fall for a straight man you had to work with. It wore on Q sometimes but he was a past master at keeping feelings in check where work was concerned. 

Bond was waving him nearer. “Get in. I'll drive you home. It's the least I can do.” 

Q held back. “I'll make a mess of your car,” he protested weakly.

Bond shoved the door open. “I can get the bloody thing cleaned. Just get in.”

Faced with a will that Q knew was a match for his and with wet and painful feet, Q gave in. He sat down and belted in and Bond put the car in gear and headed down the road, in the correct direction. “You know where I live?” Q asked, not so much a question as a despairing observation.

Bond smiled, a one sided smirk. “Spy, remember?”

Q nodded and sat, considering his life choices and anticipating the moment he could get these bloody shoes off. Bond pulled up at the kerb in front of his flat and waited. Q sighed and decided he owed a bit more than thank you. “Come up for supper. I'll order in.” He got out and didn't look back. Bond was following along behind his own trudging feet with a disgusting spring to his gait. Once inside, Q gestured to the takeaway menus stuck to the fridge door. “All of those are good. Order what you like. I'll be back in a tick.”

He headed for his bedroom and sat at his workstation. He pulled up the link to the department and ascertained there were no problems and told R to handle anything that wasn't an emergency. He sat back and sighed deeply, brought his right foot over his left knee and began to wrestle with the shoelaces which were hopeless since they had swollen with moisture. He tugged and cursed and almost fell off the chair when Bond's voice said, “Need some help?”

“Bloody hell,” he yelped, staring wide eyed as Bond approached, a slow steady gait across the carpet. He crouched down and produced a pocket knife. 

“Objection?” Bond asked as he pointed the blade at the shoelaces. 

Q knew the blasted shoes were likely a lost cause. Damn the laces. “Go ahead,” he replied and Bond slid the blade under the laces and gave a smooth flick of his wrist, parting them and loosening the shoe. He reached down to the other shoe and did the same, folded the knife and grasped the right shoe and wiggled it off. Despite himself, Q felt a huge portion of the tension in his body relax as the restricting leather slid away. Bond repeated the action with the other foot and Q was just too comfortable to object. 

Bond even grabbed the socks, tossing them aside. He made a waving gesture. “You may as well take a hot shower. The delivery place says at least an hour because of the weather. Shall I put on the kettle?”

“Please,” Q murmured politely, reflecting Bond was a much better guest than he might have expected. He showered and dressed in his favorite old flannel sleep pants and a sweatshirt he'd had since uni. He padded barefoot to the lounge to find Bond had already found the tea and there was a mug waiting for him. “Ta,” he said absently as he moved to the sofa, collapsing at one end. Bond was seated at the other end reading something. That was when Q recognized a scent that had been teasing at his senses, lavender. The little candle was sitting on the coffee table, flame steady and pooling the wax around it. 

“Interesting idea,”Bond said quietly. “Heard about this somewhere.” He waved the booklet. “Okay, feet up,” he directed. 

Q looked at him open mouthed. “You are out of your mind.”

“So I have been told,” Bond acknowledged. “The fact remains, your feet are sore and cold and, now that they are clean, they could use a little attention.” He managed a quick grab and Q found himself with his feet in Bond's lap and at a loss for how to get away. Bond tutted over the red marks where the shoes had rubbed. “You need to break shoes in, especially dress shoes.” He picked up the candle and held it above Q's feet. The wax poured off in lovely heated trickles, the smell of lavender permeating the air. Setting the jar down, Bond began to wrap his hands around Q's feet, firm and sure and kneading at the underside then flexing the joints. He would, periodically, pour more of the wax, rubbing away the stubborn aches. Q was reduced to a sort of boneless lump when Bond pronounced himself done. Q flexed his formerly tired feet and felt nothing but peace. 

The doorbell chimed, and Q resigned himself to the idyll being over but Bond put out a hand and stood. “I'll get the door,” he said. Then he leaned down and pressed his mouth to Q's in a brief but definite kiss. “And after we eat, there's some other places I can think to use that wax.” He winked and turned to take care of the delivery.

Which is how the Quartermaster of MI6 ended up with a 00 agent in his bed and lavender scented massage wax all over the bedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The candles described are amazing. My significant other makes them for sale. That means I have a supply of them in any scent I want and I vouch for the appeal of a foot massage with them. It's a treat.


	9. Cupcakes -Fill For the Free Space

#9 Free Space – Cupcakes

The object in the middle of the desk was unexpected and, therefore, suspect. It did not appear dangerous but that was always a possibility. It certainly had not been there when he left for a budgetary meeting an hour ago. Q sipped his fresh mug of tea and approached carefully. When nothing untoward happened, he seated himself, resting his elbows on the desk, propping his chin and taking a closer look.

The small cube was about 10 cm on a side, a slightly glossy white cardboard with a single letter H in ornate script on the top. He prodded it with a fingertip and nothing happened. He drew it closer and found the top flap held in place with a foil seal with the same script letter in silver on a black background. He slit the seal with a thumbnail and lifted the flap.

The smell hit his nose and he almost drooled. The scent was sweet and fruity and divine. He carefully pulled the exquisite cupcake from the box and just admired it. It was in a black and silver baking cup, the rounded top a perfect dome topped with a whirl of fluffy icing laced with red strands of transparent loveliness. He took a a sip of his tea, glad he had gotten a fresh cup. He peeled down the paper and admired the way the cake retained it's structure, not sticking to the wrapper. He took a small bite, knowing he wanted to savor as the flavors of chocolate and raspberry exploded on his tongue.   
Q managed to make the cupcake last through his entire tea break, taking the tiniest bites and savoring each one, chasing any possible crumbs on the wrapper and finally tucking the box away in a drawer to consider later. Someone had left it in his office. He had his suspicions but decided to wait the game out

The next morning he came in and found nothing t all unusual. He left for a lunch meeting with Tanner and entered his office to find another box. This one was pink and had a bow around it. He untied and opened it. This box held four miniature cupcakes, each of them a different decadent feast for the eyes. He greedily ate one, delight of vanilla with salted caramel cream, and squirreled the rest away for later. 

He thought he knew what was going on but when he looked at the security feed from his office door, he was surprised to see nothing. That, in itself, was suspicious. Cupcakes did not just miraculously appear in a secure office. Someone brought them in. He examined the footage again and looked at the digital signatures to be certain. Some one had been tampering. So he set up a separate camera on top of his desk lamp. He linked it to his personal laptop and his phone and rubbed his hands together. 

The next day, he was in a meeting with M. He felt the telltale vibration and waited until M was done going over the matter at hand. He retreated to the executive washroom and an empty stall. He pulled up the camera feed and almost laughed out loud. The footage captured the door opening, a slow glide and a figure tiptoeing across the industrial carpet, a black and white box in hand. Bond, of course. The footage should be set to the Pink Panther music. Q decided he might have to do that later. MI6's most proficient agent, delivering clandestine baked goods was a sight to behold. But Q felt his heart tighten just a bit when Bond placed a kiss on top of the box just before he left the room. Bloody James. He was supposed to be running a training course for new recruits. It was one of the major reasons Q had demanded they not celebrate his birthday. They were both too busy. Bond had been coming home run ragged after demonstrating the proper way to tackle an obstacle course. And yet there he was, bringing Q sweets and getting someone to cover his tracks. Q wondered if baked goods had also bribed R. 

He determinedly said nothing. The next day was his actual birthday and he kissed James goodbye over the breakfast table and went to work as usual. He quietly disappeared from his office at 1055 making a comment about the firing range and waited just out of sight of the main floor. Sure enough, his phone vibrated just a few minutes after 11. He stalked purposefully across the floor, hearing a gasp form R and swung into his office, closing the door and hitting the lock. Bond turned to face him. “Um, I can explain...”

“Of course you can. But since you're here, perhaps I can get my birthday kiss now?” Q had approached with what he knew was a tantalizing swagger and leaned a hip on the edge of the desk. 

Bond gave a relieved smile and did as asked. “Happy Birthday, love,” he murmured as he sealed his lips over Q's.


End file.
